


Training Day

by RedTeamShark



Category: S.W.A.T. (2003), S.W.A.T. - All Media Types
Genre: Arguably canon to my other works for this movie, Featuring Barrel the best dog ever, Flash Fic, Gen, Gen Fluff, Platonic Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: The jury was out on if training day was worth it.
Relationships: Brian Gamble & Jim Street
Kudos: 6





	Training Day

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote flashfic about Gamble not wanting to go running... because I didn't want to go running.

He could sleep through an alarm clock.

Hell, he could sleep through an earthquake--and had, waking up to find things tipped over and a crack in the wall, the news blaring on about a magnitude 5 shaking LA. If he really _needed_ to wake up, he would, but Brian Gamble did not wake up for anything less than the truly urgent.

So he heard his alarm go off at godawful early on a Sunday, when he didn’t have work, and ignored it. He heard his front door open and ignored it. Only one other person had a key, if it wasn’t him, then whoever was robbing him could take whatever they wanted. He kept his guns locked in a safe.

Brian burrowed deeper into his blankets and pillows in the predawn of his bedroom, closing his eyes resolutely against the coming day. It was Sunday, he didn’t have work, and he was _not_ waking up and facing the hangover from last night’s fun until he absolutely had to.

So of course, Jim Street, pain in his ass, had brought the damn dog.

“Barrel, up,” he heard, moments before a hundred pounds of German Shepherd jumped almost directly onto his back. One of the dog’s big paws missed his balls by inches and Brian groaned.

“Screw you, Jimmy, get outta my house,” he said into the pillow, even as the dog started licking the back of his neck and side of his face.

“C’mon, Bri, it’s training day.”

“No.”

“Yep.” Popping his ‘p’, being extra obnoxious about it. He sounded wide awake and ready to go and Brian loved him like a brother most of the time, but right now he hated him. “Outta bed, time to go running.”

With effort, he rolled over under the dog, let Barrel lick his face and neck before he opened his eyes. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Brian sat up slowly, blankets falling aside, and reached up to pet the dog. “I can’t believe this, Barrel, he’s turning you against me. Jim’s just a big bully who doesn’t know that _days off_ are for _sleeping in_.”

Barrel’s tongue lolled out, his morning dog breath panting into Brian’s face. Pleasant.

“Get up and get dressed, Brian. I’ll start a pot of coffee for after we get back.” Jim was already out the bedroom door, a sharp whistle sending the dog jumping off the bed after him. Once more, narrowly missing an unfortunate accident with Brian’s balls.

He slid out of bed with another groan of displeasure, cracking his back before going to find clothes. Loose jogging shorts and--he picked up a t-shirt, sniffed it, then grabbed a sweatshirt out of the closet. If it was in his closet, it was probably cleaner than the clothes on his floor. Brian crossed the hall into his bathroom, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth as he stared at himself in the mirror.

Wait.

He spit into the sink, rinsing quickly and leaning out the bathroom door. “What do you mean coffee _after_? Coffee now!”

“Coffee after, water now! You can’t run if you’re dehydrated!”

“You’re a monster.” He stepped back into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, slapped his cheeks a few times.

Training day. Like he was back in Basic. Like he was back in the police academy. Like he was--

“Morning’s wasting, sunshine.” Jim leaned in the bathroom door, two bottles of water in his hands. “What’s wrong, didn’t get enough beauty sleep?”

“Do you know how late I was out last night?”

“Yeah, I was with you. We were in by midnight because I told you we were gonna be doing this today.” He hooked an arm over Brian’s shoulders, passing him a bottle of water. “Drink that, take some aspirin for the hangover, and get your shoes on. The sooner we get out there, the less hot it’ll be.”

Brian grumbled his way through doing as he was told, pulling on his running shoes and following Jim out to the Jeep. Barrel hopped into the back, laying down and seeming to fall asleep as soon as the engine started. He envied that dog.

The beach was empty, the skies gray with just a bare hint of pink east of the city. To the west was night sky and night ocean, the horizon gone. They stretched in the morning breeze and then started running, pace set by Barrel. One mile in, he was pretty sure he was going to die. At mile two he was pretty sure he was already dead and in hell. When Jim finally called it around mile three, Brian was seriously considering homicide. As soon as he got air back into his lungs, Jim Street was a dead man.

Had he thought that it was like being back in Basic? He’d been wrong. Brian leaned on a lifeguard tower, sucking in air like an asthmatic without an inhaler.

“Jimmy…” He wheezed out, bending double and nearly hacking up the contents of his empty stomach. “You’re… the… worst…”

There was a warm hand on the back of his neck, before a cool bottle of water pressed there. “I know, I know. But we’ll never make S.W.A.T. if we can’t do the physical stuff. Come on, hydrate and let’s get on to push-ups.”

He took the bottle, standing up and drinking almost the whole thing in one go, his stomach revolting at the rush of cold. Brian forced it to stay down, following Jim across the sand in a shuffling jog.

Running, push-ups, more running, sit-ups, even _more_ running, pull-ups, more _goddamn running_ , and as the first groups of surfers and sunbathers turned up to take over the sand, they did squats. Brian’s legs were shaking by the time they got back to the Jeep, every muscle screaming. He practically collapsed into the passenger seat, grabbing another water bottle out of the cooler as Jim filled a dish for Barrel.

“You do this every morning?”

“Yeah.”

One skeptical eyebrow rose. “Even when you’re coming off night shift?”

“Yes, Brian, even then.”

“Bullshit.”

Jim grinned, shrugging. “So come with me and find out.”

He groaned. If he wanted to make S.W.A.T.--and he did, god did he want to be on S.W.A.T. with his partner and best friend--then he’d _have_ to start training.

“I hate you. Take me home, I want coffee.” He leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. “And breakfast. A big breakfast. Then I wanna go back to sleep. It’s my god damned day off.”

The Jeep started up a moment later and, much like Barrel in the back, Brian was asleep before they’d even left the parking lot.

Training day. The jury was out on if it was worth waking up early for, but getting Jim to cook him breakfast? That probably was worth it.


End file.
